When walking through a gravesite, you forget that several feet under lies the body of a person you may or may not know.

I have a surname and plot number...

This could have been my family.

Maybe it is.
Maybe it was.

I don't feel worthy enough to sit in the grass before the tombstones.

To place my hands on the stones... they're so cold.

I've read the inscriptions.

Never forgotten by wife and son.
Faithful unto death, may he rest in peace.
A soldier of the great war.
Known unto God

Known unto God

Known unto God.

I have a surname and a plot number written in roman numerals, somebody tell me where I can find the plot under the number 30.

I ran through the gravesite only to find 29.

And I ran out of time.

So tell me where I can find him.

After all... an unknown family wrapped in a common surname is all I really know.

Here's to hoping that day 2 actually happens this time.

I'll throw up an "Amen" because I need it and because I want it.

So just...

Hear me.

Staying up late again.

And you know I can feel your eyes reading these words, looking for something.

But these late hours don't leave much to be desired in poetry.

Sorry to disappoint.

But if you have a late night memoir, I'm not opposed to some reading of my own.

But you should sleep soon.

And so should I.

If the name fits, then fine.

But if it doesn't, then what more can you really do?

As for me?

I named my sadness after I realized I've have it for so long I might as well name it.

So I named it "Hello."

No wonder I'm so bad at starting conversations.

I realized my happiness comes and goes so often that I might as well just say...

Goodbye.

And the name sticks.
At least until someone comes up to me with a "Hello" of their own.

And I will only say "Goodbye" when I know they're happy without my "Hello".

I'll wake up earlier than usual and for a split second, I forget what happened 24 hours ago. It seems like a blur, like it didn't happen.

But I know it did.

And I can't change that.

So I'll throw on a checkered shirt and look at myself in the mirror as I put on my key necklace and rings, looking dangerous and ready to ****.

I wonder whether or not it's worth it to button up my shirt, but I seem to like the aesthetic of looking like I'm helpless. So I leave the shirt open to seem lazy too.

But I will roll up the sleeves. I'll always roll up the sleeves. Can't risk snagging the cuffs of a good, bad, decently fashionable looking shirt.

Pick out a complimentary hat and go.

Face the day why don't you?

Because I know I'll still end up crying eventually.

And I'd rather have those shirt cuffs in tact to wipe away the pain when I do.